


Becoming a Shaman

by erpprincess



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Healing, Other, Shamanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 06:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erpprincess/pseuds/erpprincess
Summary: A former Paladin of the Light, Naosu, finds new strength and hope when she is reunited with an old friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The following is a story written by me using characters and places from the World of Warcraft universe, in addition to my own. 
> 
> The characters of Naosu and Snf’fil as well as the cities of Kynor and Tolomaar are from my brain, not Blizzard. The rest are property of Blizzard Entertainment, and you can find more information about them on the various Wiki sites dedicated to the game and its lore. 
> 
> While the overarching story is maintained as close to previously-written lore as possible, I did take some liberties, since not much is actually written concerning the history of the Draenei. The major events mentioned did take place; however, they are written from my own character’s point of view. Please keep this in mind.
> 
> For the Alliance!  
> -erpprincess

_ Every living thing must grow… _

 

“Naosu, there’s someone I’d like you to see,” Velen said softly. I looked at him sideways from the chair I had been restricted to while my legs were healing. It’s been four years since they were crushed in the battle in Shattrath, and while I was regaining feeling in them, some movement, I felt like a child learning to walk again. 

“I’ve seen every priest and paladin left, Prophet.” I turned back to watch the fire burning in the hearth. It popped and crackled as one of the logs split. A small cloud of ash and sparks danced for a second before settling. “They’ve all done what they could. I don’t wish to see anyone. I want to be left alone.” 

“He is neither priest or paladin. It is not my hope that he heal your body, but your spirit.” He spoke almost a whisper, cautious, yet stern.

I turned to him, confused. “Only the Light can heal the spirit, and it has ignored my pleas and prayers. Please, just leave me be.” I turned back, clenching my fist in anger at my own shortcomings with the Light.  I had come to depend on it so much, and now that it was gone, I realized how foolish I had been.

“You no longer command the Light, Naosu, but that does not mean it cannot heal you,” he said, slightly more forceful than before. “For a former Vindicator, you sure are giving up easily now.” He was purposefully playing to my arrogance, and I knew it. He knew how torn I was the first time I prayed and received no answer. For millennia, the Light had been my constant companion, like a reservoir of hope and power to tap into when I was in need. Now that the bond was severed, I felt empty, lost, groping in the darkness for a hand to lead me. The Light had made me too confident over the years. “Come,” he said, offering his help for me to rise. “He is waiting for you.”

I took his arm and slowly, painfully, rose from the chair. He gave me his staff to support myself, and the instant I touched it, the pain receded. Not completely, but enough to walk without my muscles screaming with each step. With his left arm at my waist and his right hand helping to steady me against the staff, he led me out of my room, down a short hall and outside to the common area. There, a small crowd had gathered, whispering and pointing at a hunched figure sitting on a bench at the far end of the plaza. It looked like an elder wearing long robes, his face shrouded by the hood of his cloak.  _ What’s it doing here? _ they whispered.  _ It’s krokul… it’s broken. _ Krokul? It was true; I looked at the figure’s hooves, only to find they were cracked with pieces of them missing, showing stubby, toe-like appendages in their place.

When we were almost across the plaza, Velen called out, “My friend, thank you for waiting.” The figure looked up at Velen, and stood quickly. His back was crooked and his hands - hands with only three large, awkward fingers - looked worn and ragged. His breathing seemed labored and he, too, leaned on a staff for balance. When he looked at me, he immediately froze.

“Prophet, why have you brought me to see an exile? Is this because my legs aren’t healing? Am I becoming krokul, too?” I was quickly growing from confusion to anger, my voice cracking between rage and fear. “You’ve called him to take me away, haven’t you?”

“Please, child, I --”

“N-Naosu?” It was the krokul. 

My defiant eyes shot toward him. “I’ll not leave! I am a paladin of the Light! I won’t--” Something made me stop short. Those eyes… I knew those eyes. He turned and laid his staff on the bench, its knobbed head keeping it from rolling off the back side. His hands came up, making the onlookers flinch, as if they expected him to summon more of the demons we fought in Shattrath. He pushed back his hood, revealing his worn, sagging face and misshapen skull plates. Instead of hair, he now had additional appendages like those that hang from our chins tied back behind him. As I stood there, staring at the Broken, his eyes swelled with tears. He smiled as they dripped down his face, past jagged teeth outlined by dry lips. He opened his arms, as if to embrace me. Hesitantly, I moved closer to him. 

Those eyes… I know those eyes.

Those are the eyes I first saw in Tolomaar. The eyes that first warmed my spirit after the massacre on Argus. The eyes that saw potential in me. The eyes that trained me, scolded me, and encouraged me. The eyes that guided me through my most difficult times, and gave me hope for my future.

“It… it can’t be…” I walked faster now, dropping Velen’s staff. The pain returned, racing through my hooves and up my spine like searing lightning, but I didn’t care. My only thought was that I had to reach him; I had to touch him, to prove he was real. Other draenei, still seemingly disgusted with having a krokul in their village, stood watching in shock as the two of us met, falling to our knees, embracing one another in a mess of smiles and sobs. Did they not see? 

This broken draenei was one of the greatest defenders of our people that ever lived. A warrior who had survived the flight from Argus, taught other refugees to defend themselves, and eventually became one of the first paladins of the Light. A perfect embodiment of selflessness, he had killed hundreds of thousands of demons and nether-spawn so that these very people, regarding him like a dangerous snake, could live. Now, in his weakened, malformed state, no one recognized Nobundo for the Vindicator he once was.

“I can’t believe it. You’re alive! How? I saw the rock fall on you, and the ogres, the mist…” I could hardly believe he was here, let alone try to put words to my relief. I remember, all too vividly, the massacre in Shattrath and the moment when I believed Nobundo had been killed. Not only had he been buried under a pile of debris, but in the Lower City where the red mist had been the thickest. There was no way anyone could have survived that… right?

“Naosu, be still,” he said, wiping the tears from my eyes, and then from his own. “I am overjoyed to see you safe and… and untainted.” His smile withered and his eyes grew solemn. “The mist took months to affect us fully. We now understand that it’s what caused the draenei to become krokul. There are others. Some were less affected, but some… some are lost to us forever.”

“But I was there...” I leaned back, my forearms still resting on his shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to withdraw completely, as if doing so would cause him to disappear again. I didn’t care that he was krokul. We were both broken. “Why didn’t it affect me?”

“Didn’t it, Naosu?” Velen stepped forward, retrieving his staff from the ground. “Your connection with the Light?”

“Naosu?” I turned back to Nobundo and hung my head. I couldn’t look him in the eyes, knowing what I was about to say would tear him apart. After everything he taught me about the Light, how could I tell him that I ultimately failed?

“The Light… it… it won’t answer me. I’ve prayed and prayed for healing and strength, but I’ve received no reply. I no longer feel its warmth or hear its song. I’m sorry… I failed you.” The tears began anew. What would he think? I, whom he guided and trained for thousands of years as a paladin, had failed so completely that the Light had abandoned me.

“Dear one, you haven’t failed me.” I raised my head, searching his eyes for an explanation. He cradled my cheek in his swollen, three-fingered hand. “In believing you have been abandoned, you have only failed yourself. I, too, can no longer call upon the Light.”

“You?” I was stunned. If there was one person other than Velen I believed the Light would never forsake, it was Nobundo.

“Yes. When I crawled from the debris in Shattrath, I felt my connection severed. I could not summon healing to tend my wounds, or strength to guide my hammer. It was impossible to tell how long I had been buried, but I knew there was nothing more I could do. I fled. I found my way to a refugee camp in Zangarmarsh where Korin, Estes, and Akama also joined us. We had been affected by the mist, but we didn’t know at the time. Then the changes starting happening. At first, it was just a cloudiness in my mind. It was difficult to remember things, to put words to my thoughts. I found myself repeating things often. I lost track of what day it was, or whether I had eaten. Then the physical changes started. My forearms started to swell, and my muscles became weak. My skin began to sag, and my hooves became brittle. Others in the encampment feared our condition would spread, and we were exiled. The four of us started a new encampment at the western edge of the marsh and there we stayed.”

“What happened to you? How did you come to be here?”

“Akama eventually returned to the valley surrounding Karabor in hopes of discovering some way to reclaim it from the orcs. Korin chose to end her life, rather than live as krokul. Estes’s changes never slowed, causing him to forget even his own name. He wandered into the marsh a few months back. We haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh… Oh, Nobundo, I’m so sorry.” I threw my arms around him again, as if my being there could relieve some of the painful memories. I had spent so much time wrapped up in my own hopeless recovery that I hadn’t even bothered to confirm any other survivors. When had I become so selfish?

“Please,” he said gently, pulling my arms carefully away and holding my hands in his. “We still don’t know for sure that my condition can’t be spread. I certainly don’t want you to experience what I have.”

“I don’t care! I’d rather be krokul than live without you, Nobundo. I already lost Restalaan in Telmor and believed you were dead in Shattrath. Nothing could be worse than that.” I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his, closing my eyes in an attempt to hold back more tears. “Light or no, you are still the closest thing to family I’ve ever had. I won’t leave you.” 

Velen stepped closer, and I realized all the pedestrians had left. “My friend, it seems you have found your first novice.”

*   *   *   *

“Patience, Naosu,” he told me for the hundredth time. “Do not seek the elements, but let the elements find you.” 

It was three months into my training with Nobundo. In our time together, he told me about his struggle with the Light, how he prayed continuously for years with no answer. He told me of when instead, the Wind answered him, and how he developed a connection with the natural elements of Draenor. He was attempting to teach me how to develop the same kind of connection, but try as I might, I just wasn’t getting it.

“Remember,” he said, holding a finger to my forehead the same way he’d done when training me in the Light. “Everything that is, is alive. Open your spirit and allow yourself to feel the world around you.” 

We sat atop one of the peaks that separated Zangarmarsh from Nagrand. It had been an arduous climb with my still-healing legs, but Nobundo assured me that it was necessary. We were close to something he called the Elemental Plateau, a place where manifestations of fire, air, water, and earth came together in perpetual collaboration. He said that while the elements would not allow us into their sanctum, such proximity would make connecting with them easier. I wasn’t so sure they even  _ wanted _ to connect with me.

“Maybe I’m not meant for this path, Nobundo. I’m doing everything as you say. It’s just not happening. Maybe the elements don’t think I’m worthy.” 

“You’ve only been meditating for three months. It took me three years of desperate prayer to hear the first whisper of the Wind. I think… it’s not the elements who find you unworthy, but yourself.” He looked at me with his piercing eyes, now a grayish cobalt color, but no less commanding. “When Telmor fell, you guided the survivors to Shattrath, but you never really left, did you? Your spirit was… dimmer when you arrived. It was a difficult time for our people, and for you especially. Restalaan was a good man.”

“I remember that day all too well, Nobundo. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have left his side. I was a coward, and now he’s dead.” Why was he bringing this up now?

“You were a paladin, Naosu. Your duty was to protect those civilians, and that’s exactly what you did. Restalaan, too. He knew you would need time to flee, and he gave it to you. You would have dishonored his sacrifice by staying.”

I stood and faced Nobundo, my voice intensified by the flood of memories he had unleashed. “A sacrifice that wouldn’t have had to be made if I had been stronger!” 

“It’s not always about  _ you _ , Naosu!” Nobundo also stood, his hunched stature no longer imposing, but still intimidating. “Do you really think one paladin, even one of your skill, would have ultimately made a difference? Four hundred people made it to Shattrath because of you, and you would selfishly trade them all for one life?”

“A thousand times, yes!” My face was dark with anger and my hands were balled into fists. I was shaking, trying to keep from lashing out at him. I was on the verge of tears, but refused to back down. I relived that day over and over in my mind and in my dreams. I should have stayed.

“I don’t believe that,” he said, calmer now, his body relaxing.  “You have a gentle spirit, if arrogant at times. Not having the Light to protect or heal those you love weighs on you greatly. In Shattrath, your spirit burned for revenge, not justice. This is your imbalance. You cannot open your spirit until you accept your past and let go of your regrets.”

“I’ll not accept his death until the orcs have paid for it. I guess you’ll have to find a new apprentice.” I grabbed my pack and started down the marsh side of the mountain. I knew I had to leave before I broke down in tears. I hated being angry at Nobundo, but he touched on the most heartbreaking moment of my life. He was right, though. I had never forgiven myself for leaving Restalaan behind. 

There had only been a handful of paladins in Telmor when the orcs attacked, and maybe two dozen warriors. The shield protecting the city had been deactivated by the Frostwolf chieftain, Durotan, and despite previous relations, neither he nor Restalaan had held back when they met in combat. Looking back, I could almost pinpoint the moment my desire to protect turned into a desire for vengeance. I will remember that orc’s face as he stood over my fallen beloved for all my years to come. 

“ _ Hhuuuuunnnnnnnnng… _ ” A deep, garbled sound rose from behind me. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized I was almost at the marsh - right in front of the spore cap caves. I stopped and slowly looked over my shoulder to find a fungal giant in the mouth of the cave looking at me with hungry yellow eyes. I groaned.  While not a particularly large threat to most, my weak legs put me at a disadvantage. I could try to run, but I wouldn’t make it far. My only weapon was a small foraging knife strapped to my arm, and I doubted that would be much help. I looked around for an escape. The ledge connected to the cave entrance was narrow, only a few meters across at best. On the side opposite the rock face, a steep, ten to twelve meter drop to the damp, moss covered ground. I slowly pulled some danssen leaves from a pouch on my belt as I backed towards the ledge and started chewing on them. Danssen leaves were used to subdue pain, and considering my options, I decided to be proactive and get the leaves working. The beast started for me, its huge, trunk-like legs leaving shallow craters in its wake. I backed up as far as I could, but I was out of options. When my hoof no longer found purchase behind me, I took a deep breath, turned, and stepped off, trying my best to slide down the rocky hill without ending up face first in the marsh. I held my hand to the wall in an attempt to balance myself, but only ended up with a bloody palm.  The ground rushed towards me, and I heard a crack the instant I hit land. Even with the aid of the danssen leaves, the pain nearly made me black out. My left leg was broken, or at least severely sprained. 

I stood and steadied myself on a large, violet mushroom, trying to catch my breath. My reprieve was cut short by a familiar roar.  _ “HHUUUUUUUUNNNG!”  _  I looked up to see the giant leaning over the edge of the cliff, reaching out towards me as if to pluck me up from the marsh floor. The fungal creatures, while strong, were not very smart. I grabbed my pack and found the strap broken from the fall. I cursed and tucked it under my arm and, using the edge of the mushroom as a crutch, moved as fast as I could away from the rock face. 

_ “HHUUUUUUU-- huuuunnn?” _  That was it. The giant leaned a little too far.

I willed my legs faster as I heard the fungal creature crashing down the side of the mountain. Each step brought new bolts of pain, and it was difficult to catch my breath in the humid marsh.  I knew I wouldn’t make it far enough, so I crouched under a mushroom cap growing outwards from the rock itself, waiting for the giant to barrel past. The pungent cap helped, but it was too soft to cushion the entire blow. It gave under the weight of the creature, slamming my head against the rocky hill. Then it was dark.

_ Every living thing must grow... _

When I came to, I was staring the fungal giant in the face.  It had found me, and was leaning over to see under the broken mushroom cap. The stench of decay was overwhelming. Its arm was lashing out, striking… striking what? I could see it trying eagerly to wrap its vine-like appendages around me, but my vision was blurred. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the after effects of being unconscious, but the blur was still there. The sound of rushing water drowned out the giant’s bellows, but it sounded like a roar to my ears. That was the blur; I was surrounded by a wall of swirling water. What was happening?

Suddenly, the marsh water at my feet bubbled and sprang up, combining with the water rushing around me, forming a humanoid shape a few meters away. I gasped. Surely I was still unconscious and dreaming. Although, if this was a dream, it was much too vivid.

The watery shape in front of me had a small head atop broad shoulders. Each arm was thick and ended in fingerless hands. The torso slowly tapered down until the base, where one would expect to find feet, was simply a swirling current.  It brought back one arm, summoned a ball of water and shot it at the fungal giant, hitting it square in the chest. The creature roared defiantly, but finally surrendered and left after the second and third bolts from the water… person? After the giant left, the water person glided along the marsh until it was right next to me. I tried to scoot away, but the pain in my leg burned like fire, and my hand was still bleeding profusely. Surprisingly, it didn’t even look at me. It reached down to the pieces of the mushroom that had been destroyed by the falling giant, picked them up, and set them back against the rock. As I watched, the liquid arms expanded, covering the entire mushroom cap, holding it in place while the fungus stitched itself back together. Soon, the water receded, and the water person released its hold. The cap was as good as new.

It began to move away, satisfied with its work, towards the large lake that dominated the center of Zangarmarsh. I let out a sigh of relief. Whatever the water person was, it was obviously magic, and not something I was fit to deal with right now. Unfortunately, it heard me exhale. It returned to the edge of the mountain and leaned over me.  I never thought I would find water so intimidating, but I was frozen in fear at what I’d just seen it do. It seemed to look me over, curiously, as if seeking something. It paused when it saw my bruised and bleeding leg, twisted at an angle it should not have been. It reached towards me with its liquid arms, but I pulled back. It stopped, looked back at my face, then reached again. My back was up against the rock; I had nowhere to go.  What happened was the opposite of what I expected. The moment it touched me, the pain vanished, and it moved my leg back to its correct position. The cuts and bruises disappeared, and my muscles felt stronger than they had in years. I allowed the water to expand itself over my other leg, my arms, including my bleeding palm, my back, and eventually my whole body. I closed my eyes and felt the energy flow fervently into me. Bones were strengthened; muscles were invigorated; joints were restored; senses were heightened. It was similar to when the Light had infused me with healing power, but increased a hundredfold. 

And then it was gone. When I opened my eyes, the water person was before me, patiently waiting. I stood, amazed at how easily my body responded. Immediately, the water being leaned to look behind me. I turned and saw that I had landed on a small sporeling. 

The sporelings were native of Zangarmarsh. From what we knew of them, they were sentient humanoids resembling mushrooms with large, gold eyes, thick limbs, and a short stature. Adults only grew to be approximately four feet tall, and the younglings could be as small as ten inches. They were not an advanced culture, but they were intelligent, and had never openly attacked draenei or krokul.

I picked up the small creature and found it still alive, albeit barely. I looked at the water person, my eyes pleading. “Can you help it? I didn’t know…” This child might die because of me. It was a scene I’d experienced multiple times. I no longer had the Light to heal those in need, and many had died in my arms, just like this little one would.

_ Every living thing must grow... _

When the water person reached out again, it wasn’t for the sporeling. It took my hand from under the child and laid it on top, patting it twice before withdrawing. I shook my head. “I can’t heal anymore. I don’t have the Light. Please, you have to help it.”

It, in turn, shook its head and pointed at the sporeling, then to me.  _ It is living.  It must grow.  You are living.  You must grow. _

“Grow… Regrow what’s been damaged.” The water being wasn’t made of magic, it was a manifestation of the element. Just as the Wind had communicated with Nobundo, the Water was communicating with me. The Wind had the power to force, to shape, and to attack. The Water had the power to force and shape, but also to heal. To help things grow. 

Once again I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sporeling child. I focused on my spirit as Nobundo had taught me and found the energy I had felt when the Water healed me. I felt it flowing like a river through my body, over my hands and into the tiny creature in my arms. I could feel the child rouse while its body was revived, its own energy bolstered by what I was feeding it. When it was done, I opened my eyes and saw the small sporeling smiling back. I turned to thank the Water, but the marsh around me was empty.

*   *   *   *

I approached Sporeggar from the south. The small sporeling, who I learned was named Snf’fil, was perched on my shoulders holding my horns like elekk reigns and giggling the whole trek back to his home.  He had incredibly high spirits, and had either forgiven me or forgotten all about my accidentally almost killing him.  The journey was pleasant; my legs were no longer perpetually weary and my back was stronger than it had been in years. I ran part of the way to test my renewed muscles with Snf’fil squealing in delight as he bounced in rhythm of my strides. I could tell we were getting close by the excited gibberish and urgent pointing Snf’fil was doing. 

Sporeggar, the sporeling capital, was a unique sight. Consisting of a few dozen large, hollow mushrooms, the natives showed little in the way of decoration or embellishments, but the ones used as homes were brightly lit against the coming night. While fire was difficult to build and maintain in a place so damp, one could occasionally find a small, orange fungi called Glowcaps. These gave off a subtle warmth along with its light, and so were prized among the denizens of Zangarmarsh. The sporelings used them more than any other, and it showed; Sporeggar was a welcome sight. 

While I had managed not to lose my pack in the struggle with the fungal giant, the strap was still broken, and many of the contents had been soaked. I didn’t know if I had anything of value to trade, but it was worth a shot. I needed some supplies before I returned to Nobundo. It was at least a two day’s to climb back up the mountain, and I had no food or drinking water left.

When the city was close enough for me to see the sporelings going about their business, I was met by three adults wielding spears, leveled at my chest. They barked something in their own language, but their attention shifted when Snf’fil squealed and leaned forward, his arms outstretched like he wanted to hug one of the three standing in front of us. He slid off my shoulder, but I managed to catch the little guy before he fell too far. I set him down on the mossy ground and he immediately ran to one of the defenders, gibbering and pointing at me. The others’ eyes shifted back and forth between me and the child as he reenacted the fungal giant’s roar, the fall, and waking up in my arms. He was pretty entertaining, even if I remembered the experience a little differently. They lowered their spears as Snf’fil told his story and then started back to the capital, motioning for me to follow. Snf’fil ran back to me and held his arms up, so I returned him to his perch on my shoulders. I smiled. I was starting to get attached to him.

That night, there was a celebration in Sporeggar. The sporelings observed the phases of Draenor’s moons, and believed that good luck followed when all three were full, such as tonight. There were sporelings with drums and flutes, sporelings that danced and some that sang. There were sporelings juggling tiny glowcaps and one who had trained a sporebat to do tricks. There were all sorts of edible mushrooms, cooked and uncooked, and spiced water to drink. The whole time I sat and observed the festivities, Snf’fil was in my lap munching on this or that or clapping at the entertainers.  It was refreshing to abandon my training for a night and revel in the simplistic joy of the sporelings. 

The next morning, one of the elders approached me while I was saying my goodbyes to Snf’fil and his family. The elder offered me a gift, assumedly for bringing back the child. It was a new pack, and from the looks of it, made especially for me. The sporeling cloth was made from the silk of marsh walkers, and so was waterproof. To compensate for the size, it looked as if they had deconstructed two of their regular satchels and stitched them into one larger bag. Even the strap had been doubled. It fit perfectly across my shoulder and had been filled with food and drink. I thanked them profusely; even if they didn’t understand my words, I’m confident the gratitude was received.  

*   *   *   *

When I reached the peak where Nobundo and I had been training, my mentor was nowhere to be found. I wasn’t surprised, really. It had been three days, and he would have returned for supplies as well. I took up my familiar meditation seat to wait. I felt calm, peaceful, and for the first time in the last four years, truly happy. I could continue to be bitter about Reslataan’s death; I could spend the rest of my years with my heart full of hatred and regret, but what would that accomplish?

Besides, draenei lived a very long time.

As I sat with legs crossed, arms resting on my knees and eyes closed, I touched again upon the power Water had invested in me. I could visualize it as a glittering liquid, filling the void in my spirit that the Light had left vacant in a way that made me feel more complete. As a paladin, I had been a warrior of justice, constantly seeking in the world that which brought darkness and evil. As a shaman, I was now seeking the balance between all that affects the world, and the definitive line between “good” and “evil” was blurred.  

_ You are learning quickly. Nobundo was wise to choose you.  _

The voice startled me. My eyes snapped open, and I saw the same serene landscape that had always been there. I looked around and, seeing nothing out of place, closed my eyes once more and continued my meditation.

_ You will not always see us, but we are always with you. As a shaman, we will depend upon you, just as you will depend upon us. We will not command you, nor will you command us. Just as the world must be in balance, element and shaman must be in harmony. _

_ The creature… the water I met. That was you. Thank you for helping me. _

_ I am Water, and I am the life in your blood. I helped you so that you would help others, as you always have. You were lost, broken, and afraid. Now, you may once again grow.  _

_ And you will once again protect.  _

The new voice was a low rumble.

_ Protect?  Who are you? _

_ I am the ground beneath your hooves. I am the mountain and the canyon. I am the soil in which things grow, and the cave in which things dwell.  I am Earth, the strength and courage in your bones. _

_ Earth… I am honored.  _ I felt the presence of Earth as an indomitable strength in my very core. For a wild moment, I felt invincible, as if I could leap from the peak and hit the ground running. Then it faded, and I began to visualize a stone next to the pool of water in my spirit, uncrushable and eternal.

_ Renew your passion, shaman!  _ A new voice cried.  _ One cannot thrive in the darkness of despair and regret. Live free of it! I am Fire, the fervor in your heart, and I will light your spirit aflame!   _

Before I could respond, I was consumed by heat. I felt as if the trees around me would combust, so much was radiating from me. There was no pain, but I suddenly had the urge to move, to sprint, to simply  _ do _ . This was what I had been missing since Shattrath. Passion for life. The fire of living. This became a small flame flickering in my spirit next to the stone of Earth, begging to be released.

_ Limit your patience with action. Focus your strength with calm. Temper your passion with wisdom. Learn your peace through courage. This is the balance you must keep. This is the cycle of the world. I am Air, the breath in your lungs and the focus in your mind. _

I inhaled deeply, feeling the cool, rich air fill my lungs and revitalize my mind. A breeze rippled through my hair and clothing, caressing my skin like a lover’s touch. 

His touch. 

My beloved may not have been native to Draenor, but he had loved it all the same. He learned its sky and stars, its valleys and rivers, its flora and fauna. He protected it as his home. I knew then that he would always be a part of this world. His death had merely immortalized him in the very nature that surrounded me. This is what the Air was trying to instill in me. Everything is connected. Every _ one _ is connected. When the tears came this time, it was not out of sorrow but out of peace. My memories of Kynor, Mac’Aree, Tolomaar, Telmor, and Shattrath were still vivid, but the sense of utter loss and resentment was gone. 

This was my calling. I had to believe the Light knew this, too, and withdrew when my spirit was ready for the next step. I didn’t hate the Light, not truly. I offered a silent thank you for the millennia it had been with me, but I was ready to move on.

“I suppose I wasn’t needed after all.”

Nobundo had returned and was standing at the edge of the peak. I was a little surprised to see him, but not nearly as surprised as I was to see manifestations of all four elements, hovering mere meters from where I was meditating, appraising me as I stood. 

“When I first heard the Water, I wouldn’t have known what to do without your guidance, Nobundo. Your teachings saved me." I stepped off the rock on which I had been sitting and bowed courteously before Nobundo. “I’m sorry I lost faith in you.”

“I did not teach you so you would have faith in me, Naosu. Our people need healing, guidance, and unity. I believe the shamanistic path will benefit the draenei, just as it has helped you. The elements are magnificent allies, and in return, we can help them bring Draenor back into balance.” Nobundo was almost giddy with the idea of introducing shamanism to the draenei. I shared his excitement, but also remembered how the civilians reacted when he came to the settlement to find me. Would they even listen?

I disregarded the thought. I couldn’t have such doubts if I was going to support Nobundo in this. I looked at his wide, broken smile and realized, maybe Velen’s wish came true. Nobundo may not have been the one to heal me physically, but he did heal my spirit. For the first time in years, I felt something I never thought I’d feel again.

Hope.


End file.
